


Brandy is not Cognac

by TopHat



Category: Watchmen (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Missing Scene, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHat/pseuds/TopHat
Summary: The minute after Dr. Manhattan gets permission from Angela Abar's old man.
Relationships: Angela Abar/Dr. Manhattan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Brandy is not Cognac

A god walked out of William Reeves’ house, and somehow that had not been the most impactful event of the day.

“Heaven and hellfire,” he muttered, pouring himself another few fingers of bourbon. “Never rains but it pours.”

He had a granddaughter.

It’d taken a lot to get over June. A lot of men, a lot of women, but mostly a lot of time, much of it spent thinking about why there wasn’t anything wrong with leaving a man who wanted to bloody his knuckles on the jaw of the world. Oh, William Reeves had been angry, and had stayed angry for decades after, long after he’d stopped punching the Klan in the face. Maybe Young Man Reeves had been fueled by spite, but that sort of gas eventually started to taste like acid, and soon enough he’d found himself whiling away the years at the pictures, letting his mind drift into a world of black and white fantasy.

Then Doctor-Manhattan-but-Black had shown up, told him he was going to marry his granddaughter, and (in a mess of time-bending bullshit Will still didn’t completely understand) told him the name of a police chief that was a member of the KKK.

The black Blue Man had said some more stuff after that, given him the name of a woman to talk to about how to live for another decade and what sort of resources he could use to reconnect with his granddaughter, but those were the big pieces.

Will smiled. “I’ve got a granddaughter.”

Maybe it was old age speaking for him, but that thought seemed bigger than just about anything else on the docket. Yeah, he’d kill the Klansman. Yeah, he’d talk to this Lady Trieu. Something would go wrong (because if Will had learned one thing in a hundred years it was that nothing went _right_ ), but he’d figure out a way to pull through and maybe this time the Klan wouldn’t.

Yeah, right.

He took another sip of bourbon, then grimaced and put the glass down. If William Reeves was going to put on the hood again, in spirit if not in the flesh, then he was going to have to be Hooded Justice. That man could lift two hundred pounds above his head like it was nothing, sprint until the day turned into night, and would take on six Cyclops thugs before coming home for a late dinner with a woman too good for him. Maybe William Reeves couldn’t lift two hundred anymore, but he could at least stop poisoning himself.

“I wonder how much Angela can lift,” he wondered out loud, then shook his head, still smiling. “I’ve got a granddaughter.”

Not just any granddaughter, either. A cop, one that could actually do something in the year 2019, not like the thirties, and one of the kind that had a _character_ , like he’d had but _legal_. Sister Night, the Nun with a Motherfucking Gun, dispensing black justice to the Kalvary like an angel from a God who’d decided that enough was a-fuckin’ ‘nuff. A goddamn _superhero_ was his granddaughter.

Just like her old man.

He shook the thought off, feeling more clear-headed than he had in decades. “Ain’t no time to day-dream. Things need doing, and I’m not getting younger.” Judd Crawford, Lady Trieu, Doctor Manhattan. Some people that needed talking to, and then the rest of it would take care of itself. Until it didn’t.

Then he’d improvise.

In the meantime, William Reeves intended to find a copy of that movie “Sister Night,” and when he did he’d play it until the tape wore out completely.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, lemon, for going over this!


End file.
